The Anomaly in the Parenting
by macrauchenia
Summary: Or "Five Times Sweets Was the Baby Duck and the One Time He Was the Mother Duck" - Chapter Three : Eat Your Veggies - "He looked back up to see Michael Vincent watching him with a satisfied smirk. If the child had to eat his veggies, he was at least going to take someone down with him. Today that unlucky fellow was Sweets. The psychologist really hated broccoli."
1. Scrapes

**Timeframe/Info About This Fic: **I suppose anytime in Season 8, though certain vignettes will obviously have a timeframe.  
**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to their rightful owners.  
**Authors Note: **You guys shouldn't have encouraged me to write fluff again. I was perfectly happy writing dreary, torture-filled angst marshmallows and now I'm writing more fluff x.X I warned you before about this xD  
Anyway, these are all written up and I'll post the five other parts periodically. I just really love those "five times blah blah blah happened and the one time bleh bleh bleh happened" plot ideas, though instead of little drabbles, they've sort of turned more into actual short stories. Eh, whatever. I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"Morning, Doctor Saroyan." The chipper tone caused the pathologist to jump. She raised her gaze and blinked at the grinning doctor standing at the door.

"Doctor Sweets! What…are you doing here?" The former coroner lowered the bloodstained tool in her hand and stared expectantly at the young man in front of her.

"Uh," the psychologist glanced around him and took Cam's lack of dismissal as an invitation to enter the room. "I'm waiting for Booth. We were supposed to interview a suspect together and he told me to meet him here." He looked back over his shoulder and rocked slightly on his heels. "I guess he's somewhere with Doctor Brennan…"

"I would assume he'll be out to meet you in a moment then," Cam responded more so out of politeness than anything else. She returned her focus back to the fleshy skeleton in front of her, half hoping that the psychologist would get the hint to wait on the break platform for Booth instead of hovering over the evidence.

No such luck.

"So, that's the victim whose killer we're searching for?" Sweets' voice, considerably closer than it had been before, caused Cam to jump again. She looked back up at the wide-eyed young man and smiled thinly.

"Ye-es," the pathologist started slowly. Over the span of thirty seconds, the psychologist had progressed from lingering by the door to standing directly over the body. "Can I help you, Doctor Sweets?" Cam's patience was now starting to wear thin.

The psychologist returned Dr. Saroyan's even stare with a meek smile. "I've noticed I'm still uncomfortable with well, whatever you guys do here. All the blood and guts and stuff," Sweets elaborated on the technical terms with forming a squished ball in the air with his fingers. "So, I was wondering, uh, if I could help you out a little bit. Just to familiarize myself more with…y'know…the not paperwork."

The young man's smile was so infectious and innocent that Dr. Saroyan couldn't help but to return it with a slight upward curve of her own lips. "I can't let you perform any of the cuts since you are not a licensed professional and it would cause this investigation to be illegitimate."

Sweets brought his splayed palms up in front of his chest and pushed his body back slightly with elevated eyebrows. "Fine by me."

"But I can allow you to hand me certain instruments when I need them," Cam consented with a small smile.

Sweets grinned. "That's totally awesome." The psychologist positioned himself by the tray of shiny tools and blades. "I'm kind of like your intern now, right?" His eyebrows danced mischievously.

"Let's not get carried away, Doctor Sweets," Cam shook her head with a smile and returned back to the body. After a moment of silence as Cam carefully pried off a layer of muscle with Sweets watching on with awed disgust, the pathologist reached out her hand for the first tool. "The size 15 scalpel, please."

"Uh…"

Not even glancing up from the job at hand, Cam replied without breaking stride. "The knife on the far right."

"Got it!" Sweets grabbed the blade and swapped out the tools with Dr. Saroyan. He took the slightly slippery blade from the former coroner and frowned as he held the used blade with two fingers away from his body as he tried to figure out what to do with it. A bead of grayish green slipped down the blade tip and ran across the psychologist's thumb, causing him to jerk his hand and let the blade slip. He gasped softly as he caught the blade before it hit the floor, but it lightly nicked the inside meat of his pointer finger. With a frown, Sweets noticed that the scalpel had cut him slightly. A bright bead of crimson welled up on his index finger and trembled with its own top heaviness.

"Ouch," the young man murmured, setting the offending blade safely back down on the table with his other hand. He lifted his injured hand close to his face and scrutinized the injury to make sure none of the mystery liquids got in. Since the body juice was dribbling down his wrist and not into the slice, he assumed he was safe.

Just to be sure though, he decided to warn the engrossed pathologist beside him. "Hey, uh, Doctor Saroyan?"

"Yes?" She didn't even look up.

"I just wanted to tell you that I didn't kill her if you find my blood on the body," he remarked casually.

This was a weird phrase, especially for the shrink. It caused Cam to pause mid-slice. "What are you talking about, Doctor Sweets?" She dragged her gaze from the cadaver to the psychologist, who was still analyzing his finger as if it were a patient. Cam froze as she saw a bead of blood on the young man's finger that he had lightly separated from the other digits.

"Did you just cut yourself?" A strange urgency bled into Cam's voice that Sweets had only heard a few times before.

"Uh, yeah, I'm really sorry. I guess the blade slipped…it was sort of wet with some of the, well, dead body juice," Sweets wrinkled his nose. "I'm not doing a very good job at this."

Without giving any indication that she had heard the psychologist's prattling, Cam grabbed the young man's upturned wrist and dragged him forcefully to the sink. She turned on both taps with quick, jerking movements and shoved the shrink's hand under the warm jet of water.

Sweets tried to pull away with little success. "I'm fine, Doctor Saroyan, I really am," he protested, trying in vain to again wiggle out of her grasp. Her hand tightened like an iron vise around his slippery wrist and he still couldn't free himself, even under the pressure of the water shooting from the faucet.

Cam was still ignoring Sweets' whined pleas and grabbed the nearest bottle of soap, squirting the orange liquid directly onto the slightly streaming slice. Sweets winced at the acidic sting and tried again to squirm away.

"That kinda stings," he pointed out lamely as the pathologist scrubbed the blood, bile, and soap from Sweets' injury. At this point, he wasn't sure if Cam was simply ignoring him or if she had just completely lost it. He was dearly hoping that Booth or someone else wouldn't wander in and see him getting his finger washed out like he was an inept child. He wasn't sure he would be able to handle the embarrassment. After a few more moments of scrubbing and unheeded pleas, Cam finally turned off both of the knobs and the water ceased its pouring from the spigot.

"Uh, thanks, Doctor Saroyan…but you really didn't have to do that. It wasn't more than a paper cut, really."

"I had to make sure no foreign substances entered the wound. It's protocol."

"Oh, well, I understand, but could you release my ha—"

"I'm not done yet either. We still have to make sure that no other dangerous pathogens enter your body through the cut."

"I swear it'll be fine!" Sweets raised his free hand and tried to tug his captive wrist back. However, Cam was not about to release her patient anytime soon. She towed the reluctant young man forcefully to a portable first aid kit and popped open the white tabbed case. Sweets suppressed the urge to roll his eyes as Cam carefully dried his dripped hand with a clean, white cloth and smeared three different types of ointment across the barely perceptible tear in the skin. Honestly, to the psychologist, it looked no worse than a shaving nick.

"I'm sure Booth is looking for me. He's probably wondering where I am…" The psychologist tried one last time to excuse himself from the nearly obsessive pathologist. Quite frankly, Dr. Saroyan's uncharacteristic franticness frightened the shrink slightly.

"Once I make sure infection won't set in, you can go. I just need to cover the injury with something to prevent particles from entering." Sweets' eyebrows darted skywards. He almost had this déjà vu sense that he was ten again and his adoptive mother was bandaging him up after he had fallen on his bike for the first time.

Cam pulled out a decorative Band-Aid from the kit and Sweets groaned out loud. "No, you can't be _serious._ Everyone will laugh at me for wearing _that_."

Cam was not sympathetic as she tightly wrapped the plastic bandage around the young man's finger, giving the back of his hand a light pat for good measure. "Better safe than sorry," Cam replied with a satisfied smile as she finally released the young man's wrist. "Tell me immediately if you start to feel any pain from your finger."

"Thanks…I will…" Sweets murmured hurriedly, quickly darting backwards out of the lab before Cam could grab his wrist again and repeat the incredibly embarrassing ritual.

* * *

"You ready to go?" Booth straightened up from his leaned position on the wall when he spotted the young psychologist practically running towards the exit.

"Yeah," came the quick response. "Let's go."

"What took you so long? I thought you said you were going to be ready right away."

"It's a long story," Sweets muttered sullenly, attempting to tuck his injured hand behind his back.

Booth caught the movement and grabbed the young man's wrist and twisted the hand until he could see the bandage on the boy's index finger. "Wait…is that a _princess_ Band-Aid?" Booth wasn't sure on whether he should laugh or cry.

"Apparently Cam was out of monster truck Band-Aids." Sweets replied gloomily. Booth released his wrist and the psychologist inspected the pink and sparkle-clad bandage wrapped around his wrinkled finger. He could see an excess of the ointment oozing out through the sides of the protective foam. The special FBI agent wasn't sure what had happened in the five minutes that Sweets had been left to his own devices in the Jeffersonian, but he was incredibly curious.

"What happened?"

"I tried to help Doctor Saroyan out with the autopsy and ended up cutting myself on a used blade. She was…quite thorough in cleaning out the wound," Sweets replied with pursed lips. "I suppose the added caution was triggered by an emotional memory response to what had happened to Arastoo a few months ago. Normally I doubt Doctor Saroyan would be so…driven in cleaning up minor lab accidents."

"Yeah, right," Booth agreed with a side glance at the scowling young man beside him.

* * *

Hopefully Cam wasn't too out of character. I have the least experience with writing her character, though I really love it :'D  
**Thanks for reading!**


	2. Tucked In

**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to their rightful owners.  
**Authors Note: **Anyone remember Unnatural History? That old historical detective show? On a related note, I hope you enjoy the latest installment of "TAitP" :D

* * *

Their most recent case had been a tough one. Malachi O'Rourke was, in Ms. Julian's professional opinion, a tough nut to crack. However, all of the misleading testimonies and false threats eventually fell through, revealing the fact that the abovementioned cretin did murder his daughter's horse trainer and their mutual lover in a fit of rage with a horseshoe.

Although Caroline considered herself the star of each and every successful arrest (What was it that Dr. Brennan had called her again? The Linchpin? Yes, Caroline would agree to that), she really had to hand it to her two favorite federal agents. Without the assistance of Booth and their resident shrink, the federal prosecutor doubted they'd ever get far enough in the case for her to rustle up a conviction.

_Our little Sweetie-bird really must've knocked himself out. He was building profile after profile—enough to make my head spin. _

Sure enough, Caroline was certain that if she had checked the signature at the bottom of each suspect's profile, she would see the compact, messy scrawl of Doctor Lance Sweets. The boy had probably reached the double digits in the number of different profiles he had conjured up for the case, including in-depth transcripts from the multiple interviews he performed. Although Booth had been the one to make the official arrest, Sweets had dug up most of the dirt on O'Rourke all the way from the culprit's aggressive tendencies buried in a school report from his seventh grade guidance counselor. Without the psychologist's assistance, Caroline had a bad feeling that they would still be going on a wild stallion chase for the killer.

Not that she would openly admit her soft spot for the curly haired shrink or anything, but Ms. Julian decided to congratulate the psychologist on all of his hard work, or at least tell him to go home, since she could see the lights in his office were still on. It was well past eleven and the only people left in the building were those who had to finish up late night reports. The federal prosecutor frowned as she neared Sweets' office, as she could not see the young man perched on the edge of his couch seat or huddled over the computer.

Caroline lightly pushed open Sweets' door with a slight squeal of the hinges and winced. She couldn't see the young man anywhere in his office. The older woman took a cautious step forward.

"Cher—" The sugary nickname died before it had completely left her lips. Her eyes traveled down to the huddled mass on the sofa and a soft smile prickled at her usually stern lips.

_The boy's exhausted—as he should be. _

Caroline surveyed the semi-comatose young man, absorbing each detail carefully. The pale-faced psychologist was sleeping hard in the fetal position with his right cheek buried in his right upper arm and his forehead resting upon the top of his left hand. Although she could only see part of the young man's left eye, it was gently closed—no signs of stress or worry were present. Sweets' breathing was slow and even and a small smile flickered periodically across his pink lips as if his dream was a happy one.

_It'll do him good to sleep,_ Caroline turned away with a satisfied nod. _How else will he get those nasty bags out from under his eyes. _

However, a white blur in the dark window caught the federal prosecutor's attention. She froze and wandered quietly to glance out in between the blinds. Caroline chewed on her maroon lips as she watched a few clean alabaster flakes dance through the black air.

_The first snow of the year. _

She sighed and her warm breath formed a wet fog on the cold windowpane. It would only be a matter of time before the ice from the window froze the air within the psychologist's office and the heat had already been shut off for the night. It was about to get really cold, really fast, but Caroline didn't quite have the heart to wake up the little shrink to send him home.

Ms. Julian's gaze darted from Sweets to the window and she made up her mind. Stalking back through the open door and through the empty main floor in her typical no-nonsense way, Caroline entered her office, retrieved an item, and returned back to Sweets' office.

_I'm not going to wait around for my butt to freeze either writing up that O'Rourke report. I'm going home. It's not like I'll need this there. _Caroline snapped the threadbare blanket she had brought in the air to break out all of the wrinkles and she carefully laid the thin layer of cloth over the sleeping shrink. From the moment the blanket graced the thin boy's frame, his smile grew a bit more defined and his eyelashes fluttered twice then remained closed.

The sight of the blanketed, sleeping young man warmed Caroline's heart, although she would never admit that to anyone. It also cleared her conscious from previous concerns about leaving the psychologist in the cold.

_There's my civic duty for the day. Now I'm going home. _

Caroline turned to leave the office when she nearly collided into Booth.

"Cher!"

"Caroline?" Booth blinked and his surprised expression morphed into one of confusion.

"What are you doing here, Agent Booth?"

"To...uh…I was finishing up my report of O'Rourke and needed to clarify a few notes with Sweets. I saw the lights to his office were sti—hey…" He peered at Ms. Julian suspiciously. "What are _you_ still doing here?"

"The same thing you were. That damn O'Rourke case. I came to ask Sweetie-bird a few questions about the investigation, but he's out cold on the sofa and I didn't have the heart to wake him up," Caroline sniffed defensively.

Booth's eyebrows rose a few centimeters on his forehead. _Didn't have the heart…?_

"Besides, you should get outta here before the snow gets really bad."

Booth's shoulders drooped considerably at Caroline's comment. "It's snowing? Are you serious?"

"Dead serious," the woman deadpanned, pushing her way past the special agent. "Now I'm going home. I'm not going to waste my time freezing in my office."

"But what about the O'Rourke case? Shouldn't we get all the evidence in so you can file the official charges?"

"Cher, the man isn't going anywhere for a couple of days. We have time. Go home and get some rest and you can start back up on doin' what you do first thing in the morning." Caroline turned back around and disappeared in the dim, empty main room.

Once the federal prosecutor was gone, Booth turned back to Sweets' cracked door. "Caroline may not have had the heart to wake you up, but I'm not going to have Hacker on my tail tomorrow for not having the report done." He pulled the door open, wincing at the high squeal, and froze at the sight of the curled up Sweets under the tattered maroon blanket.

Booth pursed his lips. _It would have been easier to just barge in. Now I have to look at him sleeping. _The special agent was now starting to see why Caroline was hesitant to wake the psychologist up. It looked as if the young man's slumber was one of the deepest he had had for a while. In Booth's opinion, Sweets' looked more like an exhausted teenager than their residential annoying shrink when he was sleeping. In fact, the young man's youthful smile and crinkled eyelids almost looked like a sleeping Parker.

_Dammit Sweets. I wanted to finish that report tonight. _

Just as Caroline had confessed earlier, Booth knew it would be physically impossible for him to willingly wake the sleeping shrink up just to talk about the case that had exhausted him so deeply in the first place.

Booth's gaze strayed towards the window and dully noted the collection of snow on the window's ledge. The thin layer of frozen powder had almost reached the second blind—about an inch of snow had already fallen on the District of Columbia. If Booth wanted to get home without incident, he would have to leave immediately. Sparing another glance at the sleeping shrink, Booth started to back out of the office and then paused. He looked back at the curled up psychologist and regarded the boy's only blanket with a skeptical frown.

_Sweets' blanket is about as pathetic as Caroline's car. It's more like a burlap sack than a blanket. _Booth's shoulders slumped as he realized he was about to force himself to do something he didn't want to do.

_Dammit Sweets!_ Booth repeated halfheartedly. Even in a semi-comatose state, the psychologist had the infuriating talent of twisting Booth into compliance. The special FBI agent quickly disappeared from Sweets' office and quickly reappeared, bearing a much thicker blanket usually saved for when he had to work late nights. Booth gently draped the faded Philadelphia Flyers comforter over the sleeping young man and unconsciously tucked in the spare scraps of cloth underneath Sweets chin not unlike how he used to tuck in Parker and more recently Christine. Booth stepped back and inspected his handiwork and nodded, satisfied. The sleeping young man curled into new warmth of the blanket and murmured something incoherent under his breath.

_I'm not going to let any of my ducks freeze on my watch, _Booth's muttered thought echoed in his head. _Besides, I won't need the blanket anyway since I'm going home. If Sweets' catches a cold, then he won't be on his A-game to help us catch the next murder. _Although no one was there to witness his action, Booth still felt the need to justify his action to himself just in case any secret interloper was questioning the federal agent's toughness.

A flare of white from the window caught the former soldier's eye and he noticed that almost another inch of snow had covered the window sill. _Got to go otherwise Bones'll start to worry. _

Booth casually glanced around the deserted office to make sure he was alone with the sleeping shrink before crossing back to the door. However, halfway to the exit, Booth paused by the psychologist's still form and awkwardly patted the top of the young man's curly head.

"Nice work, kid. Sweet dreams, Sweets."

The shrink reacted sluggishly to the contact, murmuring blurry strings of words and shifting further into the blankets, but his eyes did not open. Booth froze, desperately wishing that the psychologist wouldn't wake up and see the federal agent standing there. The special agent did not relish the task of explaining his purpose for hovering over Sweets. _The kid would get the idea that I like him. _

When Sweets returned back to his silent snoozing, Booth slowly backed out of the office, flicking off the lights and locking the door behind him so no one without a key could get to their little duck in the middle of the night. Booth gave the closed door a wry smile and made his way to the elevator, leaving the psychologist alone with his peaceful dreams and the lightly falling snow.

* * *

In the early morning, a light knocking sounded at Booth's door and the federal agent looked up expectantly.

"Come in." Sweets slowly shuffled in the room, holding something behind his back and looking like a bashful puppy. The young man was still dressed in his crumpled suit although the tie was missing. Evidently the young man had come immediately to Booth's office without consulting a mirror first, since half of the shrink's hair was still messily piled on the side of his head that he had slept on. With his free hand, Sweets groggily wiped at his eyes and suppressed a yawn.

"Sweets, what can I do for you?" Booth started, smiling widely at the still bleary young man.

"I'm really sorry, Agent Booth, but sometime in the middle of the night, and I'm really sorry about this, but I guess I went into your office and took a blanket. It's really weird, 'cause I don't remember leaving my office," Sweets sighed and rubbed at his droopy face, "but I'm really sorry for invading your personal space and well, I figured it was yours since it was the Philadelphia Flyers. I just woke up and it was there. I swear, I didn't know I took it. Again, Booth, I'm really, really sorry and if there's anything I can d—." All of the words came out in a blur of syllables and apologies. Sweets thrust forward the neatly folded comforter that had been hiding behind his back and dropped it abruptly on the desk. He attempted to back out of the office, but Booth's low chuckle stopped him.

"Woah, Sweets, kid, don't worry about it," Booth smiled warmly at the flustered shrink. Internally, the special agent was psyched that Sweets simply assumed that he had broken into Booth's office instead of the latter agent tucking him in. It saved him an awkward explanation. "Thanks for returning it."

Sweets returned Booth's smile with a relieved grin of his own. "Thanks, Booth. I guess it got so cold in the middle of night that I looked for something to keep me warm. After all, it'd explain why my lights were off and the door was locked when I woke up. I must've done that on the way back in, 'cause when I fell asleep, the lights were on. Weird, huh?" Sweets' grin widened.

"Yeah, weird." Booth leaned back and crossed his arms. "Well, no harm, no foul. At least you had something warmer than that scrap of cloth you had earlier." Booth's gut clenched. _Dumb move, Booth. Now Sweets is going to know I was in his office. He's gonna use his shrink-y powers to figure out what happened._

However, the young man's expression did not change into the expected suspicion. Sweets was still too tired to automatically activate his psychologist training. Instead the young man looked rather dismayed. "I must've taken someone else's stuff, since I've never seen that blanket before either." Sweets groaned and dragged his hands down his face. "I got to go figure out whose blanket I also stole." Sweets stumbled out of Booth's office, muttering about his lack of memory and leaving behind a very bemused special agent.

Booth's eyebrows rose slightly. _That wasn't Sweets' blanket…? Caro—Caroline! No… _Across the office lobby, Booth could see the older woman pretending to not be watching the two men. When she realized that the game was up, Ms. Julian dropped the folder she had been scanning and sent the older FBI agent a scathing look that seemed to say "what are you looking at, Seeley Booth?" before retreating back in her office.

_I don't believe it._

* * *

Hopefully Caroline isn't too out of character.  
**Thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, and following!**


	3. Eat Your Veggies

**Disclaimer:** Bones and its characters belong to their rightful owners.  
**Authors Note: **Three down, three to go. I think I might have made MV a bit too old for directly after season 8, but just bear with me. Pretend it's in the future then.  
Who should be the next fretful mother duckling?

* * *

"Are y'all ready to order now?"

Hodgins glanced diagonally across the table at his wife and raised his eyebrows. "Are you ready, Ange?"

Angela lowered the menu and smiled at the waitress with vibrant ginger locks piled upon her head. "I think I'll just have my usual, Bess."

Bess smiled, not even bothering to write down the order. She had long since memorized the favorite orders of the little crime fighting club that often came to her restaurant. "Sure thing, dear. And what will the mini Jack have?"

Angela glanced sidelong at her young son beside her. He had graduated from the highchair only a few months prior and was quite excited about only needing a large booster seat. "Do you want mac and cheese, Michael?" The boy nodded automatically. He was already distracted by a colorful biker chaining her mode of transportation to a nearby bike stand.

Angela turned back to Bess and smiled again. "He'll have the kid's macaroni with a side of broccoli."

After Bess had taken the older Hodgins' order, she turned to the last member of the party. "And you, Sweetheart?" Like many others, she often referred to the young doctor with an unoriginal pet name that was very close to his own surname.

The young psychologist smiled weakly. "Just a burger and fries, thanks."

Bess nodded and disappeared to the kitchen to place their orders. The moment the red-haired woman left, the three adults returned to business while Michael was captivated by the passing traffic outside his window.

"So, I have to ask again, what's the problem? What's going on?" The profiler looked from Hodgins to Angela with an elevated inky eyebrow.

"What do you mean 'what's going on?'"

"Yeah, can't we just enjoy lunch with our favorite little shrink?" Hodgins chuckled, as if even he was having trouble believing what he was saying.

Sweets wasn't buying any of it. "No. There's _always_ a reason. Even if it's subconscious." The doctor's chocolaty eyes landed on the oblivious Michael Vincent. "Is it a problem with him? Because Dr. Brennan and Agent Booth have exhausted the free child psychology appointments. And the free babysitting." Sweets leaned back with his splayed palms in front of his chest. "If you think something's wrong with Michael, then go see someone who's licensed to deal with children."

"Dude, you _are_ a child. How can dealing with them be any different?" Hodgins snickered until a sharp kick under the table from his wife cut him off.

Sweets gave the entomologist a blank look. "So not helping your case if you want something from me." He turned back to the only female at the table. "So what is it?"

Angela tried to look offended that Sweets thought he had only been invited to lunch so the couple could pick his brain. "Like we said before, Sweets, there isn't anything that's wrong."

Sweets settled back into his seat with a distrustful stare. "Oh…kay…"

"Besides, we just wanted to ask how you're getting along with your new roommates."

"Booth said they were pretty hot," Hodgins grinned recklessly, again forgetting his wife was right across from his. His smirk faded after another prompt kick.

Sweets returned the grin with a lopsided smile of his own. "Yeah, on the first night, their moving in gift wa—" The young psychologist broke off suddenly, much to the chagrin of the man beside him, and glanced nervously at the still distracted Michael Vincent. "Uh, well, I'm not sure if I should go on…"

"Dude, come on! He won't know what you're talking about. He's only three"

Angela interrupted her husband with a glare. "Actually, he's _four."_

"Oh…" Sweets snickered slightly at the ginger's apparent discomfort.

"Besides, we're all adults—I think we know how the story is going to end."

"Well, some of us are adults," Hodgins glanced pointedly to the side. Now it was his turn to snigger.

_"Seriously? Another _joke_?_"

Angela rolled her eyes. "Stop fighting, you two. _Both _of you are acting like children."

"What are you going to do about it?" Hodgins grinned with a single eyebrow cocked suggestively.

"I'll just have to put you over my knee."

_Oh God… Make it stop. _Unable to contain himself, the young psychologist giggled nervously at the obvious implication. Although he had just been prepared to dish out the nasty details of his own personal life, hearing the playful flirts from the older couple just made him feel…awkward. _And what about Michael Vincent?_

Bess could not have come at a better time. Sweets thanked her a bit too overzealously as she handed out the still hot plates with the unnecessary "Careful, Sweetheart, those are hot."

As the smell of cheese product floated through the air, Michael Vincent quickly tore his wide gaze from the window and fixed it on his steaming plate. The boy's lips curled into a grimace of utter despair at the sight of green next to his cheddar orange elbows.

Seeing as the minds of children were incredibly more complex due to their youthful innocence, Sweets watched, fascinated, to see what the young couple would do. Angela, who had clearly gone through this before, forced a winning smile on her face.

"Honey, if you want to grow up to be big and strong, you have to eat your vegetables. Someday you could be as strong as Uncle Booth at the FBI."

The toddler did not look convinced. After all, Uncle Sweets worked at the FBI as well and he wasn't as strong as Uncle Booth.

"Hey, just think of them like little trees," Hodgins grinned at his son. "And you're a big giant who likes to eat forests."

_Little trees that taste like death._ Sweets suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. As a child and even in his adult years, broccoli ranked low on his favorite vegetables list. It ranked low on pretty much _all_ of his lists.

"I don't want brocy," the young child insisted with a large frown.

Angela's smile looked a bit strained. "All growing boys have to eat their vegetables," she repeated.

The child's dark eyes landed on Sweets and his golden french fries for a moment and the psychologist suddenly got a really bad feeling.

"Why doesn't Uncle Sweets have to eat brocy?"

_Damn. _Sweets had forgotten how vindictive and crafty and _heartless_ little children were. The almost smug smirk promptly dropped off of the shrink's face.

The seemingly innocent comment caused the entomologist to snort loudly. He smacked his lips to muffle the loud sound, but his shoulders still shook slightly.

Angela regarded the young psychologist with a dangerous glint in her eye. Sweets was starting to regret coming to lunch with the Hodgins-Montenegro family. "You're right, Michael. Sweets _should_ be eating vegetables as well, since he's a growing boy just like _you."_ Angela tapped the boy's nose on the last word, causing the child to giggle.

"I'm not growing! I'm twent—"

"If Uncle Sweets eats brocy, will you eat your brocy too?" Hodgins was having a hard time wiping the grin from his face.

Michael Vincent nodded solemnly.

"I'm _not_ eating brocy—I mean, broccoli!" Sweets insisted loudly.

Angela swapped a mischievous look with her partner. The dark-haired female waved her hand to flag down Bess.

"Sorry to bother you, Bess, but we were wondering—"

"You gave Sweets fries instead of broccoli," Hodgins finished before the psychologist could interrupt.

Bess's orange eyebrows furled in confusion. "Huh," she murmured. "Sorry about that. I coulda swore you wanted fries" She grabbed the plate of sizzling, golden potato strips and whisked them away from the young psychologist's desperate, grabby hands.

"But I _di—"_

Sweets was too late. The waitress had already bounced back towards the kitchen, calling "one side of broccoli coming right up" over her shoulder.

"I don't _want_ broccoli," Sweets muttered darkly as he crossed his arms and moodily slouched in his chair.

"Cheer up, Sweets, it's just _broccoli."_

Hodgins' amused eyebrow had not dropped the entire conversation. Clearly the ginger was enjoying himself. "Yeah, you and Michael can be Brocy Buddies."

The young man scowled as Bess reappeared with a fresh, steaming bowl of emerald broccoli. She dropped the bowl in front of the shrink and the tiny florets trembled at the impact.

"Sorry 'bout the mix up. Hope you enjoy!" As the waitress left, Sweets silently cursed the back of the joyful woman's head, although he knew she had no part in the couple's sick game.

Sweets glanced down at the green vegetable and his frown deepened. _There's not even any butter. _His spirit was currently spiraling into such a pit of despair that he feared he would never find it again.

He looked back up to see Michael Vincent watching him with a satisfied smirk. If the child had to eat his veggies, he was at least going to take someone down with him. Today that unlucky fellow was Sweets.

"Go on, Sweets. Show Michael how big boys eat their brocy."

Sweets shot the two adults dark looks with a flick of his eyes and savagely stabbed the least offensive looking floret of broccoli with his fork. Taking a weak breath through his nose, he bit the metaphorical bullet and plunged the vegetable in his mouth. His tongue crammed itself as far as it could to the back of his mouth to avoid touching the foul morsel, but a soft brush of the dark, leafy top of the floret caught the center of his tongue. Sweets suppressed the urge to gag as he swallowed the piece of broccoli whole.

The psychologist really hated broccoli.

He hated the dual nature of crunchy and springy.

He hated the flavorless initial taste and the rotten aftertaste.

He hated the way that those stupid little leafy things always got caught in his teeth.

He even hated the _color_ of broccoli. Food shouldn't be green. Grass and recycling containers were green.

However, the young man somehow managed to get the disgusting bite down and he quickly downed his glass of water to wash the revolting taste from his mouth. All but slamming the plastic cup on the table, he shot a triumphant glare towards the toddler. _Your turn,_ the challenge seemed to say.

Michael Vincent smiled widely at the shrink, shrugged, and immediately began to devour his much-smaller-than-Sweets' portion of broccoli. As the number of florets rapidly decreased, Sweets' proud smile gradually faded until he was frowning at the child's empty plate.

"Aren't you going to finish your broccoli? If _Michael _did, surely you can."

"Yeah," Hodgins chuckled. "Don't you want to grow up to be big and strong like Uncle Booth too?"

The young psychologist did not grace the couple with a response. Instead he stabbed one of the broccoli florets, pretending the flower-y morsel was the head of a certain entomologist.

Sweets really hated broccoli.

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